


Connected

by BriinaP



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Oneshot, everyone's british for no real reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriinaP/pseuds/BriinaP
Summary: Soulmates. The very word was taboo. Heads turned and whispers swallowed the room every time somebody dared to say it out loud. Distrustful glances were thrown around; prying eyes tried to see the cracks in others' public facade. Cold sweat dripped down the backs of those with a guilty conscience.Cursed with a tattoo on his hand, Jughead resented, absolutely loathed, everything it stood for. Because of the black ink on his skin, he had to keep up a perfect front, stay away from everything that painted him in a curious light. Never had the words on his wrist brought anything besides heartbreak and misery, and his situation wasn't going to get any better.He was a freak, an outcast.He was the reason his family fell apart.





	Connected

 

Pinpointing the exact moment of everything first going wrong wasn’t exactly hard.

His 13th birthday wasn’t supposed to be anything special: a modest lunch at Pop’s with his family and a trip to the Twilight Drive-In after that. Archie wasn’t invited. They had gotten into yet another argument and both of them were too stubborn to be the first to apologise. But it was okay, since a part of him was happy he could spend the whole day with just his family. Usually they were all too busy with their lives to properly sit down and talk to one another, anyway.

He woke up with a tattoo on his left hand.

At first he thought someone had written those neat little words on his wrist while he was asleep—he wouldn’t have put it beyond Jellybean to come up with a harmless prank like this—but soon he realised the handwriting didn’t even remotely resemble his sister’s. Not only that, but why would she choose these specific words? _Never in my wildest dreams did I think you’d say that in such a context._

He shrugged it off. They were just words.

Getting ready to head out to Pop’s, Jughead’s mum couldn’t tear her gaze away from the mirror. She studied the reflection closely, making sure her colourful scarf matched her bright red coat. She must’ve noticed Jughead’s hand reaching up to grab his hat from the closet. „Honey, what’s that on your wrist?“

At the same time, Jughead’s dad said, „We’re gonna go ahead and start the car, yeah?“ When Mum nodded, he opened the front door and let Jellybean dash out. „Don’t take too long, or we just might have to leave without you.“

Jughead’s mum fought a smile. „And leave the birthday boy? Now that wouldn’t be particularly nice of you, would it?“ She took out her light purple lipstick to apply another layer.

After the door had closed behind them, Jughead sat on a chair to put on his shoes. „I don’t know, I just woke up with it in the morning,“ he answered his mum’s question, establishing brief eye-contact with her through the mirror.

His mum raised her eyebrow. „Is that so? Did Jellybean do something again? I swear, this girl...“

„No, mum. I don’t think it was her.“ He forced his other foot into a shoe and began the task of tying the shoelaces.

His mum had stopped perfecting her make-up and turned around to face Jughead. She tilted her head to the left, didn’t bother to tuck a rebellious strand of dark hair back behind her ear. „Show me.“

The tone she used made Jughead raise his head even though he wasn’t done tying the laces. He frowned and pulled back the sleeve on his left arm. She grabbed his hand and yanked it closer to her.

„Mum? You’re hurting me.“ He regretted saying it the moment the words left his mouth. Interrupting Mum’s thought process never turned out too well.

She blinked, snapped her hand away from his. Breathing uneven, she took several steps back. „Stay put,“ she ordered when Jughead looked like he wanted to move himself. Her gaze didn’t leave him when she yelled, „Hey, FP? Can you come here for a second?“ Her voice sounded off.

It didn’t take FP even fifteen seconds to reappear. „Did something happen?“ he asked, poking his head inside.

„Look at his wrist and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it isn’t a sign.“ Her voice wavered. She wrapped her hands around her body and looked down.

Jughead presented his arm to his dad, heart thumping loudly. „What’s going on, dad?“ he asked as the older man came closer. „Did I do something wrong?“

Though his eyes darkened, Jughead’s dad managed a compassionate smile. „No, boy. Everything’s alright.“

He lied.

Mum moved out within a month, taking Jellybean with her. („ _How are we supposed to live under the same roof with that... with that thing_?) Frankly, Jughead should’ve been glad they didn’t give him up to the authorities.

His dad started drinking soon after.

 

To make things worse, each year the curse became more and more powerful.

When he turned fourteen, he started dreaming about her. He could never remember the way she looked or the way she spoke, but the mere feeling of her made him want to throw up. Endless hours of going through local and not-so-local bookstores finally payed off a month and a half later. The book, _About Soulmates and Their Bonds_ , described how the connection caused them to live through each other’s memories of the day. However, it only worked when both persons were asleep at the same time. To combat this, Jughead made it his mission to sleep during the day.

When he turned fifteen, he gained the ability to message her by writing on his skin. Rather unfortunate, the way he found out. The school’s headmaster wanted to meet Jughead’s dad, as apparently the teachers had become worried about Jughead’s behaviour. His dropping grades, playing truant and becoming even more antisocial than he had been before were the main culprits, and he knew that very well.

Either way, the headmaster needed his dad’s phone number to set up an appointment. Since the latter had had several different phone numbers within the last couple of years, Jughead had stopped trying to memorise them and thus couldn’t give an answer. As an alternative, the headmaster gave him his own phone number and Jughead was to make sure it reached his dad’s hands. Due to the lack of paper and care, Jughead wrote the numbers down on his arm.

He was horrified when about six hours later the words _...do we go to the same school?_ appeared on his hand.

When he turned sixteen, nothing happened. Admittedly, it had only been a couple of days since his birthday, but so far, no new developments had taken place. A big part of him hoped it’d stay that way. He had enough trouble trying to hide his... status... from everyone, and he didn’t need it becoming even more difficult than it already was.

At about six o’clock on a Friday night, an hour after Jughead had fallen asleep, it happened. The sensation of being hit in the face, hard, made him nearly fall off his couch. His eyes snapped open, scanning the room, while he jumped up and grabbed a glass bottle from the dining table. His fingers slid around the cold material, but by the time he was ready to hit someone with it, his brain had woken up enough to realise he wasn’t in any sort of immediate danger. There was nobody else in the trailer.

His cheek started burning up. Shaking his head, Jughead stared at the bottle in his hand as if it was to blame for his strange experience. With a frown, he placed it back.

A jolt of pain, this time in his stomach. Stumbling back on the couch, he pressed his hands on his midsection. What the hell was happening?

The skin on his head was overcome with an unfamiliar feeling—as if he’d been violently grabbed from his hair. Which was impossible, considering how short his hair was and how he was wearing his hat.

He swallowed.

When strange things happened, ten times out of ten it was the soulmate bond’s fault. Did this mean... Was he experiencing what his other half was going through? No, that couldn’t be. Why would anyone be hurting this girl?

There were lots of explanations. He could still have been sleeping, for one. The dream would have to be very bizarre and realistic, but it was still a possiblity. Or, the girl could be in a self-defense class. It wouldn’t explain the hair-pulling, but...

He urged himself to think as yet another blow landed on his stomach. Abusive parents? Boyfriend?

His hands couldn’t stop trembling.

 

Things calmed down after the first thirty minutes. He waited another thirty to make sure.

He sat on his couch, brought his legs up against him. For the first time in his life, Jughead wondered what kind of a life this girl could be living. He had always just assumed she’d be this rich, entitled brat, although it wasn’t all that likely in reality. She was supposed to be his soulmate—that means they’d have to be at least somewhat compatible.

Minutes passed as his right hand hovered over his left, a marker tightly between his fingers. Should he write her and make sure she was okay? Then again, perhaps he had misjudged the situation and everything was actually fine. The girl would then probably see this as Jughead wanting to communicate with her, maybe even meet up with her. And it definitely wasn’t his plan.

Before he could change his mind, he wrote, _are you okay?_

He leaned his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. There, done. No takebacks.

Her letters were shaky and faint, the handwriting nearly impossible to understand. She’d chosen the colour pink, of all things. _Do you care?_

He bit his teeth together. This wasn’t the answer he had expected, yet he didn’t blame the girl for questioning his intentions. All these years, he had tried to push her away, to deny her very existence. So why did he care now? Did he even care at all?

No, he decided. He didn’t. He had plenty of problems on his own, and he definitely didn’t need any more.

 

The second time it happened was quite similar to the first. It was a Wednesday, five days after the previous incident. At about five in the evening, Jughead was getting ready for bed when the first hit came. His hand reached out to the closest wall for support as he tried to stay steady on his feet.

He didn’t want to be trapped inside the small trailer like last time, so he put on his hat and made his way to the door. Chilly air greeted him, cleared his head enough for him to think of a place to go. He definitely wanted to steer clear of any people, so he opted to go to the local forest.

As the blows kept coming, his pace quickened. He tried to convince himself that he was just imagining it and nothing was really happening. Walking, enjoying the nature—that’s what he was doing. After a long day at school, he had decided to go for a little stroll. It was nothing unusual.

His fists stayed clenched. In fact, he was tense overall, his body anticipating the next hit.

Having found himself a suitable tree, he climbed on its lowest branch. His gaze darted from one place to another, not finding anything to latch onto.

What was he doing? Closing his eyes and wishing for the bad times to pass? This wasn’t him, wasn’t how he did things. He was the type of person to rip off the bandage without a second thought not spending ten minutes to talk himself into it. He tackled things head-on, no matter how awful the situation was.

This shouldn’t be any different. 

From the depths of his pockets, he found a marker, the same one he had used before. From the looks of it, the blows had stopped, which meant it was as good of a time as any to write _This isn’t okay_ on his arm. _You should tell someone about it._

He had almost given up waiting for an answer when she finally wrote back.

_I know._

Jughead tapped the black marker against his skin, trying to figure out what to say. Well, no. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was debating whether he should. But sooner or later he had to stop being selfish and help this girl who obviously wasn’t okay. Soulmate or not, he couldn’t just turn a blind eye to something like this.

 _Will you?_ is what he settled with in the end. _Tell someone about it, that is._

Not ten seconds went by.

_No._

His pulse sped up as he wrote _why not?_ Why did she feel like she couldn’t tell anyone? Didn’t anybody notice what was going on? Her friends?

Did she even have any friends?

_Remind me of the time it became your business._

Despite the situation being more than serious, her response brought the smallest of smiles on Jughead’s lips. An annoyed one at that, but a smile nonetheless. _The moment I started feeling what you’re feeling._

 _Ah, I see._ And a moment later, _Sorry for being an inconvenience to you._

Her handwriting positively reeked of sarcasm, if it was even possible.

 _That’s not what I meant_.

 

Archie and Jughead never did make up. With Jughead’s whole life turning upside down, he didn’t feel like reaching out to a friend, especially when they were in the middle of a fight. Even if they’d been on good terms, he probably would’ve still pushed him away. If the others had found out Archie was friends with a freak, he’d undoubtedly been bullied for it, perhaps even forced to change schools. Jughead couldn’t let that happen.

Which is why it was ironic how he now worked for Andrews Construction, a company Archie’s dad owned. It hadn’t been his first choice, but after the Twilight Drive-In got shut down... well, he had to earn money somewhere and this job had the most flexible schedules. Technically, he wasn’t really working there, more like helping out after school and on the weekends. Wednesdays and Fridays were off—Jughead needed those to catch up with his sleep—but other than that, he spent most of his free time there.

He needed the money, now that his dad spent most of his days drinking.

The other workers had accepted him as one of their own long ago. They were nice, kind people, and Jughead usually didn’t mind working with them. Today, however, was an exception.

„Everything alright, pal?“ one of them, Vic, asked when Jughead showed up to the site at four o’clock. „You look like you’ve been to hell and back.“

Jughead walked right past him. „I’m fine,“ he said, although he wasn’t sure the older man believed him. Last week, he had sold them the story of getting beaten up by a classmate of his. If they asked again, he’d say he had had another unfortunate run-in with the guy. The cover-up barely sounded believable—he wasn’t one to get into fights—but it was the best he could come up with.

For the rest of the day, nobody commented on his bruises or his unusually pale complexion. Though they did make sure he wasn’t carrying heavy materials around or doing otherwise physically challenging tasks. It was subtle, the way they organised the whole thing. If Jughead hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought it was just a coincidence.

He had presumed his coworkers would leave it at that.

After most everyone had left, a group of three workers approached Jughead. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay behind and finish up whatever he’d been doing, although this time he felt like his work had been insufficient. With another hour, he could probably make up for it.

„Listen, Jug, have you got a second?“ Vic asked while the other two, Deborah and Pavle, greeted him with a small nod. The three formed a unified front, and although their body language was relaxed, Jughead didn’t really like what he was seeing.

Standing up from his crouched down position, he crossed his hands. „Sure. What’s up?“ He held his tone carefully casual, like it was normal for them to chit-chat after each workday.

„We, um...“ Vic started, his hand scratching the back of his neck. „We—“

„Is your father abusing you?“ Deborah asked, cutting off Vic. „Because if he is, we can’t just do nothing about it.“

Jughead’s throat felt dry. His gaze kept hopping from one person to the next, his mind processing the situation. Did they really think his father was the cause of his bruises? He could see why they’d come to that conclusion—frankly, he should’ve seen it coming—but the conviction in Deborah’s voice as she talked... In her eyes, Jughead’s dad was the lowest of the low, and while it may have had some truth to it, she didn’t have the right to judge him. She had no idea.

FP might’ve been a lot of things, but an abuser he was not. „I... No.“ Jughead cleared his throat, letting his hands fall to his sides. This wasn’t the time to get defensive, as it could be misread as him hiding something. „Your concern is misplaced. My father... he’s not who you think he is. An alcoholic, yes, but not a child abuser.“

The two men let out a sigh of relief, but Deborah didn’t seem convinced. „You do know you can come talk to us if you need to, yeah?“

„Yes.“  
„And you’d tell us if things took a turn for the worse at home?“

His first instinct was to say yes, purely so the unpleasant conversation would end quicker, but the rational side of him argued he’d come off too unlike his usual self. As his brain searched for the right response, Pavle let out a laugh, thus drawing all the attention on him. „Come on, Debby, leave the boy alone. Lord knows how many times I got into fights with guys my age when I was a teenager—you’re overthinking things.“ Pavle’s hand reached out to make a mess of the shorter woman’s brown hair. „Not that I’m surprised. Women do tend to be more on the emotional side.“

Deborah stepped away from Pavle’s reach and squinted at him. „I saw you cry when you saw that tiny ass banana the other day, and you’re telling me women are emotional?

„That’s not fair! Did you even see...“

As they continued on, Jughead couldn’t help but think how wrong it was that he’d been the one to be confronted about the abuse and not his soulmate.  

 

Two weeks passed, and Jughead was becoming anxious. Nothing had happened to the girl and she hadn’t contacted him, either. It was like the calm before the storm.

He wasn’t going to wait around for the girl to get beaten up again.

_My coworkers questioned me about the strange bruises I’ve been wearing lately. Had a fun time explaining that one._

Her response came in under a minute. This time her handwriting was small and neat, exactly like the tattoo on his hand. Exactly like it should be at all times. _Not a fan of small talk, I see. Coworkers, though? You’re older than I thought._

From her attempt to make an actual conversation, Jughead assumed she was in a good mood. He decided to make use of it. _Old? Me? What, you think your other half is some 35-year-old beast? Madam, I’m offended._

 _Ha. Funny._ Despite her words being sarcastic, there was some truth hidden there. She was enjoying this. _How old do you claim to be, then, if not 35?_

 _Wouldn’t you want to know._ Having let her fry in anticipation for a good thirty seconds, he wrote, _Well, as it happens, I’m 16. I assume you’re around my age, no?_

_Correct._

Jughead could barely believe the girl’s audacity to leave the reply at that. _It’s hardly fair that you know my age, yet I haven’t the faintest idea about yours._

_Seventeen._

_So, Ms Seventeen, I have a question for you._

As if sensing the direction Jughead was planning on taking, she wrote, _Uh-oh._

It was clear she wasn’t thrilled about the idea. Yet, it had to be done. _Why haven’t you told anyone about what you’re going through? Surely you have people you trust, people you can confide in?_

And he waited and waited; the seconds ticked into minutes, but no new lines were drawn on his skin. He didn’t give up, though, and in the end, she did answer. _It’s my problem, not theirs._

_You can’t do this alone._

_There’s no ’this’ that needs doing. I’m going to be 18 soon, and when I am, I’m moving out. I have everything under control._ Which meant somebody from her immediate family was doing all this to her.

Not beating around the bush, Jughead asked, _When’s your birthday?_ In a few weeks? Months?

_What’s it matter?_

He had done the right thing by asking, it seemed. Her unwillingness to answer indicated her birthday wasn’t as near by as she wanted him to believe. _Birthday. When is it?_

Again trying to win some time, she wrote, _When’s yours?_

 _What is the date on which you were born?_ He wasn’t one to give up so easily. If he knew the time frame the girl was operating with, he could perhaps help her think of alternative ways to approach the situation. Unless her birthday really was near.

Her stubbornness matched his, unfortunately. _Changing the wording won’t trick me into answering._

_I’m not joking around._

With every cell in his body, Jughead felt the girl sigh. Like it made sense for her to do so in this particular moment. _September 14._

Jughead wasn’t surprised. _Not to accuse you of being bad at math, but it’s 11 months until that day._

_I’m aware._

He was, however, a bit disappointed. Everything would’ve been easier if she’d just told the truth. Then again, it wasn’t like she could change the date she was born. _You lied to me._

 _I said ’soon’. I don’t think eleven months is that long. Eleven years, yes, but not eleven months._ While she had a point, she was still strtching the truth, and she knew it.

_Purposely deceiving other people into believing things that are false is called lying._

Several dots appeared on Jughead’s skin. _I’m not going to apologise._

The girl was impossible. Instead of searching for help, she’d decided to suffer through 11 months of hell—because from the way she spoke, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind the situation wasn’t going to change—and keep quiet. The right thing to do here would be to tell someone, anyone, about what she was going through.

Yet, in her place, Jughead would do the same. And that was the part which infuriated him the most.

FP had stayed with him when nobody else had. The thought of saving his marriage by alerting the authorities about Jughead had never even crossed his mind. Instead, he had decided to convince Jughead’s mother to keep everything a secret. Jughead would never forget that. Sure, things went downhill from there, but the very fact that his father had sacrificed everything... Jughead owed him his life, quite literally. While it was difficult for him to admit it, he would probably stay with him even if he’d turn violent. He would have the same plan as the girl: get 18 and move out.

But why did _she_ feel like she had no other choice but stay? There were options. Running away, calling the child services, talking to a few choice relatives—why wasn’t she considering any of those?

It was about seven p.m. when Jughead couldn’t hold it in anymore. He grabbed the all too familiar marker and pulled up his shirt’s sleeve to ask her the very question.

It took her about half an hour to answer, likely due to her having been in the middle of something beforehand, such as a family dinner. _I am adopted. Before them, I had lived my entire life in an orphanage, never wanted by anybody. I was chubby and way too short, and by the age of ten, it became clear I wasn’t ever going to be taken into a family. I had accepted that as a fact, until one day, you know, it happened._ It took her a while to write the next part, as if she was debating whether or not she should say it. _I was severely depressed back then. They... saved my life._

 

The very next night, after the girl had asked Jughead to distract her from the pain of yet another beating, he told her about the book he was writing. A murder mystery, set in a small town quite like Riverdale itself. A girl’s twin brother had been found shot, which led a determined bunch of teenagers to untangle the web of lies around the death. Purely fictional, that story. Based on a dream Jughead had had a couple of months back.

To his relief—he had half-expected her to ridicule him about his passion—she was really into it. She asked a ton of questions, and Jughead was happy to reply. One thing, however, he refused to share.

_Oh, that’s not fair at all! How can you just not tell me who the killer is! I need to know._

He felt bittersweet. It was nice talking about his work and all, but he was constantly reminded under which circumstances the conversation was taking place. His nose was still bleeding, and he’d gone through dozens of tissues already. _Milady, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I’d spoil you the ending of the to-be bestseller. You’ll have to wait and read it yourself._

_You’re impossible._

Oh, how many times had Jughead thought the same about her. _Your turn now. Tell me something about you._

 _I don’t have any fascinating hobbies like you do. I’m not sure what I should say._ Her handwriting got smaller throughout the sentences, and by the end, it was half its original size. She was uncomfortable. Or shy.

Well then. _How about... do you have any siblings?_

 _Yes._ Her response was insant, but Jughead was cautious to count it as a win so soon. Her letters were rougher than usual, and it couldn’t have been a good sign. _I have an older sister—she and I are really close. Well, were. She ran away from home at the beginning of summer, and I haven’t talked to her since._

 _Oh? Do you know where she is now?_ He was intrigued, although he knew he was walking on a thin line.

 _No._ The word was written in an almost angry manner. _I don’t want to talk about it._

 

Jughead had never been so conflicted in his life.

All the years of ignoring the girl, thinking of her as a nuisance... While he had had good reasons for doing so, he was beginning to doubt his choices. And it confused the hell out of him.

She wasn’t supposed to be this kind, big-hearted person with a sense of humour to match his. She wasn’t supposed to be living with foster parents, especially ones who were as awful as hers. She wasn’t supposed to be so easy to talk to, so interested in his life, so curious.

He wasn’t supposed to connect with her the way he did.

From the few books Jughead had managed to find on soulmates—back when he was actively researching the phenomenon—he knew that once upon a time having a soulmate was the norm. Thousands of years ago, humans had magic running through their blood. The pyramids, the Great Wall of China, the lost city of Atlantis–all prime examples of the power they once possessed.

The magic started to fade, in most cases disappear altogether, in the 13th century. Nobody knew why, still don’t. By the 15th century, less than a half of the human population could do magic. By the 17th, about a quarter. It was around that time when the people without magic, normies, began to see the magicals in a different light. Because if a powerful magical decided to wipe out an entire village, they could. And that terrified them. So, they did what they thought was right: took extreme measures and forced the magicals into hiding.

He didn’t have any special abilities. He had never been able to do things others couldn’t, had never even felt like he had the potential for it. With the way the history had played itself out, he imagined that by now, the magic really had died out. The soulmate bond was the only one to survive and even that skipped generations at a time.

One day, when the conversation steered towards that direction, Jughead asked, _Have you ever been able to actually do magic? Anything at all?_

He hadn’t expected her to say yes.

_I was thirteen when it first happened, about a couple of months or so after my birthday. It was the coldest day yet, and it even snowed in the evening. My sister’s always loved hot chocolate, so we decided to make some. You got to understand, she was absolutely freezing at that point, having played outside with snow for so long. Anyway, the drinks turn out way too hot—we should’ve waited at least five minutes for them to cool down. I... did not like the idea of waiting, not with my sister looking as blue as she did. I wrapped my hands around the cup. I can’t remember exactly what I was thinking, but in the end, I felt my hands start buzzing. A moment later, the liquid inside the cup froze._

Since the space from her left arm must’ve run out, she continued on her foot. Jughead only ever realised this when he felt a tingling sensation on his shin.

 _I was scared to death at that moment. I hurriedly excused myself and ran to my room, cup in hand. I was lucky my sister didn’t notice anything._ She stopped writing for a while, probably so Jughead could process her words. _How about you? Anything like this ever happen to you?_

_Not if you count my inability to get burnt by warm water. Seriously, though, no. I’ve never noticed anything, and I don’t think I want to._

 

It became their thing, talking in the evenings. Never for too long, since Jughead needed to sleep, but a good hour still. He carefully diverted the topic when she asked about his sleeping habits. She trusted him enough to tell him about her family life, and it would hurt her if she knew how Jughead was actively working against their connection.

Whenever the thought of changing his sleep pattern back to normal popped up, he pushed it away. He had lived this way for so long, it was like a second nature to him. It brought the feeling of normalcy, and he really needed that, especially now that he had befriended his soulmate, his father had fallen deeper off the tracks than ever before, and people around him were giving him questioning looks.

His stubbornness cost him a lot of sleep. By the end of the third week of being friends with her, he was absolutely spent. And she noticed.

_Hey, are you okay? You sound a little off. Did something happen?_

He really didn’t want to admit that he was tired, but he didn’t want to lie, either. _Just a little sleepy is all. Don’t worry about it._ He was planning to skip school to fix that very problem, anyway.

 _What’s up with your sleeping schedule? You never seem to sleep during the night_.

 _Early to bed, early to rise, I guess_. It wasn’t technically a lie.

_Yeah, but to go to bed at seven in the evening? That’s insane. I always drift off at about midnight._

Not suprisingly, he knew this. After having experimented back when he was 14, he’d figured out her sleeping pattern pretty accurately. It hadn’t changed throughout the years. _I don’t know, I like it better this way,_ was what he settled with in the end. _Nightly walks around the city are to die for. The nature’s beautiful then, too._

She did figure it out. It wasn’t even two days later when she wrote, quite out of the blue, _It’s because of me, isn’t it?_ She didn’t need to specify.

Jughead, who was just about to clean the mess of a trailer, frowned at that. He sat down on the couch, hands searching his pockets for something to write with. _Yes, but it’s not what you think._

_Oh._

The black marker dug deep into his skin as he rushed to explain. _This connection that we have... it broke my family apart. It’s not your fault—you can’t control it, and it’s not like you wanted any of this. My mother, when she first saw the tattoo on my wrist, I’ll never forget the look on her face. Horrified, disgusted, even._

He had never told this to anyone, and a part of him wished it’d stay that way. But he couldn’t. The words just poured out of him. _My father could barely convince her not to tell the authorities. She couldn’t believe he took my side on this, so she left. Took my sister with her. My father did fine for a couple of weeks, but... it all was too much, even for him. One day, he came home drunk. It was his way to cope, so I thought the phase would pass. It didn’t. He lost his job for showing up drunk one too many times._

His hand raked through his hair, a second he needed to clear his thoughts. _My point is, this connection we have tore the life as I knew it to shreds. From what I’d seen, it could only complicate things, ruin everything. Ignoring it altogether made me feel like I was actually doing something to stop bad things from happening, you know? Surely you can relate to this on some level?_

She couldn’t, as it turned out, and she used the opportunity to describe her point of view. _When the tattoo first appeared on my wrist, although I knew what it meant, I felt... happy. I never had many friends growing up, and I guess I took this as a sign that maybe I wasn’t so unlovable after all. Unlike you, this, along with my adoption, gave me a confidence boost I hadn’t realised I needed. I became more independent, outgoing, positive overall. For the first time in my life, I actually had multiple friends I could call close._

_Hiding the tattoo was never a problem for me, since my mum was always happy to buy me beauty products, including ones I could use to cover it up. Not that she knew about it, of course. Nobody does. Anyway, this led me to start experimenting with make-up, which gave me even more confidence. My grades improved, and I began taking part of different extracurricular activities. Everything went great, until that one day when I saw with my own two eyes how a string of numbers, phone numbers, as I soon learned, appeared on my arm._

_Needless to say, I immediately came to the conclusion that it had to be you. That night, I gathered up my courage and dialed the number. Having learned it was the headmaster’s, I wrote to you. I was beyond happy to learn we weren’t living thousands of kilometres apart, that we could meet up in a matter of days. But then, you never answered. At first I thought you just hadn’t seen my message, but I knew I was lying to myself. You just hadn’t wanted to respond. I probably would’ve fallen back into my old habit of being antisocial, but now I had friends, a safety net that made sure I wouldn’t. It still hurt. To think that your own soulmate doesn’t want to even get to know you._

Jughead rushed to explain. While she was technically right about what his intentions had been, there was more to the story. _I wasn’t trying to_

She interrupted by quickly writing, _I have to go._

 

Jughead tugged at his hair, eyes forced shut and the marker laying forgotten on the ground. It wasn’t that he regretted his life choices; he merely disliked the way everything had played itself out. He could’ve never imagined how someone could see this kind of connection as a good thing, although lately he’d slowly started to understand. It felt good to have a person around to trust, somebody who didn’t mind his company.

Since both his feet and left hand were covered in black and pink ink, he grabbed the marker into his left hand and drew the shakiest _I’m sorry._ on his right hand. The situation was less than favourable, but neither of them were at fault, not really.

He expected her to come back in an hour or two—the thought of going to sleep while they were sort of in a fight didn’t even occur to him—but when she didn’t, he became worried. Had he misread the severity of the situation? Was she offended? Had he hurt her with his words?

Absent-mindedly he fell into the habit of scratching his hands, specifically wrists. He kept picking on the skin, massaging it, almost. What could he do to calm her down? He had already said sorry—what else was there to do? She hadn’t given him the impression of being overemotional, but this surely seemed like it. Or perhaps there’d been something else bothering her even before the incident, and Jughead just hadn’t picked up on it?

The sun had set about a half an hour earlier, the trailer now drenched in dark shadows. He leaned over to turn on a light and...

He snapped his hand back, as if the light had given it a first-degree burn. Eyes widening, he examined both of his hands. Deep marks—from rope?—covered both his wrists, vaguely hurting him.

...had somebody tied her up somewhere?

_Are you okay? What’s going on? What’s with the marks on your wrists?_

Otherwise, she wasn’t hurt. Nobody was hitting her, pulling her hair, pinching her, which made it all so much more confusing. What was all this supposed to be about?

Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure if he actually sensed it or if his imagination had just gone into overdrive. Either way, he needed an answer from her to make any further assessments.

And it simply did not come.

He paced around the trailer. His luck that FP was currently in the middle the phase where he disappeared for weeks without a trace. Jughead would really prefer not to have a conversation about all that was happening.

An odd stinging sensation on his left thigh made him stop in his tracks. It wasn’t exactly painful, which made him think she was doing it to herself. He didn’t even think twice about removing his jeans in order to examine what was going on.

Due to thighs being one of the only places left without any writing on them, the light pink trails were easily noticeable. They didn’t look much like anything at first, but as they kept on coming, a short message could be made out. _They know. They plan to contact the authorities._ All of it was in capital letters. She was probably scratching the words on her skin with her nail or some other blunt object.

There was no doubt that ’they’ referred to her foster parents. Jughead’s heartbeat sped up as the meaning of those words became clear. The soulmate bond. They had probably noticed all the writing on her skin.

The marker. Where had he put the goddamn marker?

He couldn’t see the blasted thing anywhere. Not on the table, not on the floor, not under the magazines. Cold sweat trickled down his spine when he finally grabbed it from behind the couch’s pillows. _Where are you? Address?_

He could help her get out of there. It was obvious she was trapped somewhere. Considering how the rope marks were now fading away, she’d freed herself, but she wouldn’t be writing him if there was some other way for her to escape.

 _I’m not sure if_ appeared on Jughead’s skin, abruptly continuing with words he could actually hear in his head, „...that’s a good idea.“

Her voice sounded small and scared, yet soft and breathy. Jughead’s knees buckled underneath him. Was that really her voice? Had he imagined it?

„How did you... how can we...?“

He could feel her presence in his head, a gentle force of energy. It was warm, almost familiar, the way her mind connected to his.

„I’m not sure,“ she said quietly, an element of wonder to her voice. „I didn’t know it was possible. I was just so frustrated that I couldn’t write out my thoughts as quickly as I wanted to, so I just...“

Jughead smirked, despite everything that was happening. „You’re not sure of a lot of things.“

But it wasn’t a joking matter. „I’m sure that I’m going to be taken away in a matter of minutes.“

„Tell me your address.“ His eyebrows knit together. „I’ll help you get away.“

There was a small pause. „And what would happen then?“ she asked, as if already given up on the idea. „The police would start to look for me. My face would be all over the news. I can’t hide.“

„So, what, you’re not even going to try?“ He couldn’t believe this.

„I’m saying there’s no point. And hey, perhaps the government officials aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be.“ There was no conviction in her voice; she knew how brutal they could be.

„You’re not thinking straight. You have to give me your address,“ Jughead said, already dressing up. „I’ll get you out of that house.“

„I already said—“

„Yeah, well, I didn’t like what you said, so I’m disregarding it.“ He barged out of the trailer’s door, a wave of soft rain hitting him in the face. „Your address. Now,“ he said as he sat into his dad’s old truck.

Her sigh was full of frustration. „My parents would see who you are, which means there’ll be a target on your back, too. You don’t need to be brought into this mess. I... I can handle this on my own.“

„The hell you can.“

„I just want to—“

„I’m not letting you—“

„Why do you have to be—“

„Give me your—“

„I don’t want to tell you who I am, okay?!“ Her yell was followed up by a deafening silence.

Jughead’s hands, which just a moment ago had been so eager to turn on the ignition, fell on his lap, stayed unmoving. His eyes glossed over. Of course she didn’t want to meet him. The only reason she’d been wanting to communicate was probably because she felt sorry for him. Oh, poor Jughead, living with his deadbeat dad and having to provide for the family himself. What somewhat softened the impact of her words was that he had never really entertained the idea of her wanting to date him anyway. It hurt that she was willing to go to such lengths to not meet him at all, though.

When he spoke again, his voice was empty. He started the engine. „I swear, you don’t have to see me ever again after this day. But I can’t just let you live the rest of your life as a lab rat. I’m asking for the last time, what’s your address?“

„I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve been wonderful, and it’s...“ As she realised her words fell on deaf ears, she gave up. „84 Lower River Drive.“

Jughead recognised the address. When he was younger, he spent quite a lot of time in the house next to it, at Archie’s. Which could only mean... „Betty?“

This couldn’t be; it had to be some kind of a joke. A cheerleader? Archie’s best friend?

The ride there passed in a blur. Before he knew it, he was barging into her home, leaving the front door wide open behind him. Near the staircase, in the kitchen, were both her parents. They had been talking up until Jughead’s entrance caught their attention.

Ignoring the shouts from the parents, he headed straight to the staircase. He could sense her presence upstairs, almost like there was a tiny magnet pulling him towards her. The house’s layout was quite similar to Archie’s, which helped.

He had first thought she was held in the attic, but once he got to the first floor, a door with keys in front stood out to him. A bathroom. Those aren’t normally locked from the outside.

The touch of cold metal against his fingers went completely unnoticed as he slammed the door open. His gaze fell upon the girl sitting on the toilet, her elbows resting on her knees. She jumped at the loud sound, at first hiding her face even deeper into her hands, but then deciding to look up.

„I’m sorry—is this a bad time?“ Jughead asked. It was obvious she was sitting on top of the lid.

Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, the few occasional curls giving it a messy look. Bright blue eyes, pale skin, badly covered up bruises showing from underneath. Lips almost blue, a similar shade to the bags under her eyes. She was a living, breathing person, and she was his soulmate.

Despite everything, Jughead’s words earned a chuckle from her. Confusion, suprise and doubt were all present, but it was a chuckle nonetheless. „Never in my wildest dreams did I think you’d say that in such a context.“

And there it was. The sentence that had been tattooed on his wrist for three years now, here, spoken out loud. Bizarre wouldn’t even begin to describe the situation.

Jughead shook his head, brought himself back to the present. They needed to get out of here, now. The police should be there any second. „We have to go.“ He stepped forward to grab her hand, but then he stopped. She didn’t want anything to do with him; he shouldn’t touch her.

„Yeah.“

The door closed, and before Jughead could turn around, it was locked. „The government officials should arrive within ten minutes. You sick bastards are going to get exactly what you deserve.“ The voice belonged to a man, presumably Betty’s dad.

He had followed him upstairs and waited for the perfect opportunity. And Jughead had given it to him by stepping inside with his back towards the entrance.

„While you’re in there, could you please refrain from thrashing the place? Would be awfully inconvenient to clean up after you two,“ said her mum. Their footsteps were already fading away.

„Wouldn’t you like that!“ Jughead shouted, punching the door with all his might. He quickly turned around, his gaze searching the room.

Betty sat back down on her seat. „There’s nothing we could use. Trust me, I’ve searched everywhere.“

He was already going through different cabinets. It gave him a reason not to look at her. It kept him busy.

Soon it became clear she’d been right. Pills and shampoo weren’t going to help them get out. There was no window, no second exit. They were trapped.

Shame how doors can’t be kicked down as easily in real life.

Jughead slid down the sickeningly white, spotless door. His hands kept going through his hair, his knees bent beneath him. He hadn’t come there to get captured. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this. Sure, if they’d gotten caught while running from the police, that would’ve been understandable. Instead a pair of old people had trapped them inside a goddamn bathroom.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the white, soulless floor. What other ways were there to get out? They couldn’t very well fight the officials once they arrive, could they?

„The reason I didn’t want you to know who I am... I was scared. These past couple of months, I’ve told you so much about me, things I hadn’t told anyone before.“ Her voice was calm, unwavering. She was listing facts. „You know all my secrets, my fears. You could,“ she paused to take a breath, „absolutely ruin me, if you wanted to. If you learned who I was, if you’d meet me, you could just decide that you don’t like me. That I wasn’t who you imagined. And to be rejected by the person who knows the real you would be devastating. So that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. It never had anything to do with who you are personality wise.“ As the silence stretched on, she added, „Thought you should know.“

Jughead’s mind was eerily quiet. He didn’t think, he didn’t even try to. Comprehending the weight of her words would have to take days, weeks, even. She was afraid of him rejecting her. The mere idea was ludicrous. How could she think of Jughead so highly? What made her believe that his views mattered? That he mattered?

„I’m the reason you got found out. I’m the reason we’re stuck here, waiting for the slow and painful death that’ll inevitably come through this very door. You shouldn’t determine your self-worth based on some random loser’s opinion of you.“

He opened his eyes just in time to witness Betty move to the ground, rest her back against the bath. She was sat right across him. „There’s so much wrong in your statement that I don’t even know where to begin.“ A half-smile tugged at her lips, not reaching her eyes.

Jughead’s gaze stayed on her, lifeless yet guarded. „The same could be said about pretty much anything that has to do with me or my life.“

„Are you always this negative?“

He considered it for a moment. „No. That side only comes out when I’m in the presence of beautiful blue-eyed girls who think of themselves too goddamn little.“

„Now that’s odd. I have the same thing, except with adorable green-eyed boys.“

Forgetting all about his dark and depressed image, he let disbelief flood into his voice. „I can’t believe you just said that.“

„I can’t believe you’re blushing.“ She was fully smiling now, evidently proud of her achievement. Her face soon fell. „So how about you tell me the ending of your book? It would suck to die without knowing the answer.“

„Who’s being all negative now, huh?“ It was the first time either of them had used the word ’die’. They had carefully danced around it, but now they had to face the facts. If they didn’t get out of there, their life would end before they got out of their teens. „To think that we were ready to live a life of running away and danger, and now we can’t even have that because of one stupid piece of wood blocking our way.“

As she looked at the door, her brows furrowed. „My sister would know how to unlock it. She always wears pins in her hair just for that reason alone. She hates locked doors and secrets that come with them.“

Jughead stayed quiet for a moment, then deciding that they were dead anyway and it couldn’t hurt to ask. „Why didn’t you run away with her? If your foster parents are abusive—“

„It’s not like that.“ She brought her knees closer to her and hugged them. „They weren’t... abusive... back when she was still here. Controlling, yes, but they never used physical violence. It still was too much for Polly. Mum and Dad didn’t approve of her relationship with Jason, so when she got pregnant, they decided to leave. Together.“

Understanding dawned in his eyes. „They think you know where she is, don’t they?“

Her bottom lip trembled as she nodded. She forced her mouth to a thin line to hide it. „They don’t believe me when I tell them I have no idea.“

„She’s their biological child, right? She isn’t adopted?“

Betty nodded again. „The way they see it, I gave her the idea to run away.“

Jughead smirked. „And I was thinking _my_ life’s an utter mess.“

„I’d say we’re both quite...“ Her gaze travelled away from his face, right over his shoulder. „What are you...?“

As he stood up, he expected to see a spider or some other insect. He certainly wasn’t expecting a hole the size of his hand in the middle of the door. „What the...?“ Having exchanged a quizzical look with Betty, he reached out his hand to touch the black edges. It was warm, as if it’d been burnt.

Betty had come closer, now standing next to Jughead. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her tone accusing. „You told me you had no abilities!“

Looking back and forth between the door and Betty, Jughead raised his eyebrows. „I don’t.“

She pointed towards the hole. „That wasn’t there before, in case you didn’t notice. You made it somehow, and if you make it bigger, we can get out of here.“

„No, this can’t be. Maybe you did it somehow, seeing as how you’re the one gifted with all sorts of weird abilities.“ If he had some special powers, he would’ve known about them by now, no?

Betty placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing Jughead to look straight at her. „Remember how that one time you mentioned something about not being able to get burned by hot water? That’s the first sign. I could never get cold during winter or while taking a cold shower, either. You have the same thing, except opposite.“

And so he burned down the rest of the door, Betty’s encouraging words ringing in his ears. In the corridor, he helped her climb out a window, following her as she led him to the closest tree. The sound of police sirens in the distance made them change direction and hop over the neighbour’s fence.

He wasn’t sure when their hands found each other’s.

 


End file.
